Late, Too Late
by Wynja2007
Summary: Inspired by the talented Nyx Thranduilion's 'I'll meet You At Midnight, it shares its opening scenes with, and is an alternative story to 'A Midnight State of Mind'; if you don't like this one, try that instead. Please note this is not part of the 'Where it Doesn't Show' universe. After the wedding of Aragorn and Arwen, Legolas is late for the most important meeting of his life..


Legolas walked the celebrations with a smile fixed in place. Arwen was happy, Aragorn was happy, Elrond was pretending... well, Elrond had to pretend, of course, his daughter was going to her eventual death against his wishes, his counsel, his needs... Elladan was happy and Elrohir...

Elrohir looked sad, somehow, sombre in his fine indigo silks. Difficult to know if he still, really, wanted to go through with this. Difficult to know if Elrohir still wanted him.

Difficult to time it so that he looked only when Elrohir was not looking, but that was what he had agreed; secrecy, discretion; left to himself, Legolas would have shared the news, loudly and joyously, but that wasn't Elrohir's way and he respected that.

The celebration square was starting to empty, finally, even the most energetic of dancers beginning to consider continuing horizontally elsewhere. Not long now, less than an hour...

Suddenly he needed to get away from the remains of the festivities, out under clear skies to clear his mind, to put this exuberant marriage out of his head and prepare for his more proper, elegant tryst.

He left the square and took a walk up to the next level of the city, looking out over the plains below, down onto the lower levels. So much stone oppressed him, somehow; he was a creature of the forest and so much unnatural structure made him fundamentally ill at ease.

Although there was something else, too, something making his nerves jitter and prance like a horse ready for the race...

Something was wrong; he could smell smoke. Not wood smoke, but bitter, acrid, chemical smoke, like some of the blasting fire he'd seen at Helm's Deep...

Pinpointing the source of it, he ran to seek help, down the levels.

Gimli, half asleep in a corner, saw him pass and came awake.

'Hey, Elf! What are you up to now?'

'Gimli!' Legolas paused in an instant. 'Blasting fire on the second level, near one of the armouries.'

The Dwarf struggled up from his corner, muttering and swearing, stumping off after Legolas to rouse the guard.

It was hours before Legolas could get away. A small but determined group of dissidents had infiltrated the city disguised as revellers and had set out to do what damage they could in a series of attacks on armouries throughout the city. Legolas had tell and retell his story, scout the walls seeking the scent of more blasting smoke, and then once Faramir, the Steward had arrived, to go through it again with him. Gimli saw his shoulders stiffen and then slump as he was asked to show Faramir exactly where...

'Let me, lad,' Gimli said. 'I was there too, remember? You get off.'

'Thank you, Gimli.'

He hurried – no, he raced – back up through the levels of the city, noting as he ran that the stars were fading in the sky as the blue of day began to push against the darkness of the night.

Aware that he was late – very late, now, and hoping Elrohir hadn't given up on him and gone to bed alone and angry, he increased his speed, coming out at the edge of the Celebration Square with an apology in his mouth just in time to sense, rather than hear his name whispered in despair and see something fall in a shadowed corner, fall and lie curled and still.

'Elrohir!' He gasped the name in fear and grief and hurried over to kneel at the side of his beloved's still form, to pull him up into his arms, calling his name over and over, desperate for a response.

His love was growing cold in his arms.

'No... no, you cannot...'

He dragged himself and his beloved across the square, out of the darkness to rest under the last of the glittering stars, rocking the body, trying to warm him. He swallowed against tears, refusing to allow this, determined to go through with the long held promise no matter what.

'I swear... I, Legolas son of Thranduil, child of the Greenwood, I swear to bind myself to you, Elrohir, son of Elrond, child of Celebrian, fëa to fëa, hröa to hröa, under the stars of our birth until death takes us or the skies fall away... to love you, only you, from now until time's ending... and so I swear under the witness of the stars we love and Eru Ilúvatar, who sees all... by the Valar who love us and whom we love... to cleave to you always in love and honour...'

He pressed his lips to the cold forehead.

'Elrohir? Ro, it's your turn now, your turn... come, wake for me... we cannot be properly vowed unless you say it too... Ro...? Have you forgot?' He rocked his love in his arms and his own tears fell to slide down the dried runnels on Elrohir's face. 'You start with your name, love, your name... you say, I, Elrohir...'

His tears continued to fall and slide until, mingling, they trickled into the corner of Elrohir's mouth, like a last salt kiss of loss and longing.

'But... you must say it... I am vowed to you now, yours forever... I cannot... if you don't say them, Ro, I'll be alone forever...'

Forever.

He chafed the cooling wrists, patted the soft, cold cheek, spoke over and over again, growing more and more frantic, but it was no good; he had been late, too late, and now Elrohir was gone.

Was it his fault? Because he was late, because he'd been saving the city? It wasn't fair! If only Elrohir had felt less shy of announcing their love, then they would have been together when Legolas had smelled the smoke... or been too busy to notice...

Legolas shook his head. It was no good, now. It didn't matter now; it was all too late and the love that had for so long sustained him through the hardship of the quest now could never be.

He sobbed as he realised he did not want to be alone forever.

His father would miss him, although he might not show it.

Aragorn would miss him.

Gimli... well, Gimli would have to find another to build a boat to carry him over the sea; Legolas was not going to be here to help.

For he knew, now, what he must do, how he could show his love for this beautiful, fragile creature so unsuited to war but forced by fate to be hard and cruel when really his fëa was soft and loving; if he could not be with him in life, then he would join him in death.

Not here.

He would not have his beloved found here, on the ground amongst the scattered debris of the celebration; it was not fitting.

Stifling his sobs, he staggered to his feet, Elrohir a too-light burden in his arms. Clutching him close, he left the celebration square and headed up through the city towards a small park that had been made in honour of the Queen. The place itself was so new that the trees were still settling their roots down, and they were slender things, saplings full of new life.

Tenderly he laid Elrohir down under a beautiful maple, arranging his limbs in elegant repose, smoothing his sable hair into neat tresses, wiping the tear stains from the handsome face.

That done, he glanced up one last time at the paling heavens. There, still bright, falling away towards the horizon,Eärendil's star glittered like a huge tear in the sky.

'Watch over him for me,' Legolas whispered to the star. 'Help me find him again.'

That done, he lay down beside his beloved and took his hand, resting his head on Elrohir's shoulder. Allowing the full measure of his love and loss to settle on his grieving fëa, Legolas sighed and let go of all his earthly ties, permitting himself finally to fade, to fly from his body, the last sound from his lips a breath, a ghost of love and loss:

'Elrohir.'


End file.
